Of Love, Life, and Laughter
by HotSpot1988
Summary: When Christopher Gates' campaign has a late start for the running, he'll go to any extreme to win. But taking in a certain Brooklyn newsboy isn't all fun and games. Can Spot Conlon teach the family what life is really about? Please RR!
1. The Failing Campiagn

(AN: Ok! Hi everyone, its CiCi! I'm editing a bit of this story. Its been years since I've done anything with my fanfiction. I know the whole Spot-falls-in-love-with-the-rich-girl thing has been over done, but I hope you'll read this any way. If I get anything wrong, bear with me! I plan on editing the chapters, correcting anything that I see wrong and hopefully writing a new chapter. Hope everyone enjoys it.)

Disclaimer: I own anything that's not familiar! Anything that has to do with newsies I do not own!

Of Love Life and Laughter By CiCi

"NO! I refuse to have some street rat in my house!" The yell penetrated her ears through the door of her fathers study. She recoiled behind the intricately designed wooden door. She had never heard her father this angry before.

"Sir! The Wilkinson's campaign team has thought of everything except this! We had a late start in the running. If we were to do anything remotely close to their campaign, we would be portrayed as a duplicate of Wilkinson. The late start has pulled the voting polls down 25 percent! If we don't do this, then you will lose! You have to decide whether you're willing to lose thousands of dollars for nothing. It's your decision." She heard a sigh. She couldn't decipher who it was; her father or his campaign manger.

"Okay. Fine, I will accept her into my family for the time being, but when this campaign is over, she will be back on the streets faster than I can say my own name!"

"Sir, when I proposed this temporary adoption, we had no intentions of bringing in a girl. We had in mind a boy. Boys are more commonly found than girls. It would take us at least a month to comb through every lodging house in Brooklyn to look for a girl. And, if we didn't find a girl in those lodgings, then we would have to comb through other boroughs. All in all, it would take too much time. If we were to do that, the campaign could already be over. Actually, we have already found the newsboy. We have been watching him for about a week now and we have decided that he will be the best bet to win this campaign. He will be arriving on the third morning of this month." She heard another sigh.

"That's in three days...there must be another way!"

"I'm sorry Sir, there's not."

"Fine, I'll let you know, I'm against this! And, if he makes any wrong moves at all, he will be kicked back out on the streets!" Her eyes widened at the thought of living in her house with a ruffian. "Come, I have to tell my wife and kids. Let me show you to the door."

She picked herself up off the floor and scrambled down the stairs to the parlor room where her mother was situated on the couch with her needle point.

"What are you...?" She was cut off by her husbands loud booming voice.

"Cecilia, where are you?"

"In the parlor, Christopher." She said with her melodious voice. He walked into the parlor with a dull look in his eyes. He glanced at his wife and turned his head to look at his out-of-breath daughter, Coriander.

"Coriander, are you okay? Why are you breathing so heavily?"

"I...uh...?"

"Coriander!" Her mother reprimanded her, "You are never to use that in a conversation! What has that school of yours been teaching you?" Her husband raised his hand silently to his wife to stop her tongue-lashing.

"Can that wait until later, Cecilia? I have some very important news. Where's Norma?"

"She's in her room." His wife said, as if it was a fact that everyone in the household should know.

Christopher walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Norma Jean?"

"Yes, daddy?" Norma said, her head poking out of her room.

"Would you come down here for a moment? Daddy has some important news to tell the family."

"Okay, daddy!" Norma came bouncing down the stairs, her blonde spiral curls bobbing up and down. She went into the parlor and sat down on the sofa as properly as an eight year old can, having not gone to finishing school yet.

"I have news. I talked it over with my campaign manager. It's not like I have a choice. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake here! And don't worry, I'm going to win this." He now seemed to be muttering to himself instead of talking to the family.

"Win what, honey?" Cecilia asked with peaking curiosity. He fitfully ignored her.

"My campaign manager says that we must take in a...newsboy."

Silence ensued.


	2. Arguments, Agreements, and Thoughts

**(AN: Next chapter. Read and Review everyone! Thanks everybody!) **

**Of Love, Life, and Laughter By CiCi **

**Norma was the first to break the eerie silence that seemed to overcome the Gates family. **

**"WE WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!" She screeched, sounding much like a banshee. "I refuse to live in this house with a shoddy newsie!" The family was forced to cover their ears because of her high-pitched screams. **

**Coriander looked to her right where she heard scurried footsteps. Suddenly, one of their maids came hurrying into the parlor. **

**"What is the matter in here, dears?" She asked in her immaculate British accent. **

**"Nothing is wrong here Julie. Please leave and close the doors behind you!" Christopher Gates boomed out. **

**"Yes sir." She said in an ashamed voice. She walked to the double doors leading out to the hall. She took one more look behind her at the family, walked out and shut the door with a final thump. **

**"Like Norma said, we are not having a disgusting, filthy newsboy in this house!" Cecilia said, turning back to the matter at hand, her voice rising an octave with every word. **

**"Cecilia dear, listen to me! We have to do this. I have already made the decision. This discussion is over!" Corianders father said in a firm, but soft toned voice. "Now get up! We must start preparing one of the guest bedrooms for him. He will be coming in three days. Call Julie back in here and tell her what's going on. Tell her to prepare a guest bedroom for the boy and to find out what size of clothes the boy wears. We are going to have to get him new clothes while he is here. I refuse to let him walk around this house, getting grease on everything from his clothes and grubby hands. He has to look proper if he is going to spend the next couple moths with us." He walked over to the couch and sat down with his hands covering his face. **

**And as Coriander watched her father she knew it was going to be long couple months with this boy. Coriander got up and smoothed her wrinkled skirt and abruptly walked out of the parlor and turned to left to go up the grand staircase. It seemed like forever before she got up the stairs and into her room. She looked at her expensively furnished room and flopped down on her bed with a sigh. She started to play with the fringe that had just started coming out of her down feathered comforter. Her soft blue and green colors on the walls were nowhere near how she wanted her room painted. Her mother had decided that since Coriander was not a little girl and that her favorite color was no where near close to pink anymore she would hire a painter to paint her walls. It was a dreadful surprise to come home from visiting her crazy Aunt Millie, which is not a pleasant experience at all, to a blue and green room. **

**Her dolls were lined up against her walls on shelves. Almost everyone of the doll had a pink or white dress. It horribly clashed with the walls, but her mother would not let her get rid of them. Her mother made her keep them on the shelves. It was sickening to her that her mother wouldn't let her change the furnishing around to the way that would suit her. But even with the bickering and fighting that she did with her mother she wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world, except maybe at her best friend Kaitlyn Briggs house. She never wanted to be put on the street fending for her self. Besides fending for her self she could never live without her down feathered comforter or the cherry pie that Miss White made in the winter. Or anything else for that matter. She stuck up her nose at the thought of living with a disgraceful newsboy. The fact that he was a newsboy was not a foreboding as the thought that he might have fleas and other horrid diseases and things wrong with him. The newsboys were always nice to her and her family, considering the tales and stories she heard from the other social elite families. She rolled her eyes at the thought of the lower class citizens. **

**Coriander picked her self up off her bed and walked out of her room. She stopped at the first portrait in the portrait and painting laden hall. The portrait was of her mother at her age. It was a gruesome sight. Her mother was just as stuck up in the picture as she was now. Maybe even more so. It wouldn't surprise her. But like always her mother had an aura of beauty around her, it could even be seen in the picture. She walked down the hall some passing pictures and paintings on the left and right of her. She came to a complete stop at the last painting. It was a picture of the family. They were all in their Sunday best. She once again rolled her eyes. Everyone in the painting looked happy and sweet, but in reality everyone one in this painting was anything, but happy and sweet. There was always bickering in her home, mostly caused by her mother. Her mother was never happy with anything and always wanted more. She continued down the hall and down to the base of the grand staircase. She heard voices in the family room. **

**"Julie I need you to go to get a room ready for our new company. I want to see it after your done. Please don't give him one of the new guest rooms, but one of the old ones. I'd rather not have the new sheets dirtied because of him, so please strip the bed on which he'll be staying in and give him the old bedspread in the laundry closet." Coriander peeked her head around the door and found her mother standing in the middle of the family room directing Julie to what she needed to get done before the young man got there. "This needs to be done before the third of the month. Also when he gets here I want you to find out the size of shoe and clothes he wears. We are to find some clothes for him. If we cant find any here then we will have to go buy some. Please search the house for any unused boys clothes that our guests might of accidentally left." **

**"Yes Mrs. Gates. I will do this right away." Julie bobbed her head up and down signaling that she understood. **

**Cecilia sighed. Julie walked out of the family room and past Coriander without even noticing her. Coriander watched her fix her white bonnet and turn a corner, most likely on her way to get everything ready for the newcomer. Coriander peeked her head into the family room where her mother was on the Victorian chaise lounge in the corner of the room and had her eyes closed as if in pain. Coriander knew then that this young man was going to have a big effect on the family. A very big effect indeed. **


	3. Fear In Brooklyn

(AN: I hope everyone is satisfied with my writing. Its been years since I've written anything and I'm afraid I won't be as talented as I used to be. Please review. )

Of Love, Life, and Laughter By CiCi

The man got out of his carriage that had moments ago abruptly stopped.

"Is this the place, George?" The man asked his voice dripping with disdain, looking at the building that loomed ahead out of the darkness. The building's decrepit sign signaled its age and that it probably had seen more hard times than the man had even been alive.

"Yes sir, it is." The carriage driver said to the man with boredom.

The man briefly glanced at the building and shook his head because of the buildings condition. He strode up to the door, took out his handkerchief wiped the door knob off, and casually walked inside. As he looked around the room it seemed as though time had completely stopped. The room was filled with about 45 boys who had all looked as if they were frozen in time each in various degrees of activities from playing poker to wrestling. They were all staring at him, daring him with their eyes to make a wrong move. The visitor strolled over to the sign in desk and spoke briefly to the gruff looking old man sitting behind it. The boys could hear whispers from the two men. The man behind the desk looked at the stranger gleefully.

"Do you want me to get him?" The desk man asked.

"Yes." The other said with a firm voice.

The man stood up ad walked out from behind the desk. He was very short and incredibly fat. He took a left and walked up the lone staircase. Downstairs no one was making a noise, not even a peep. Upstairs was a different story though. They all heard a yell and a girlish scream. Moments later a blonde headed girl was seen coming down the stairs. She had on only her under dress and was clutching the rest of her clothing to her body.

"Nevah again, Conlon!!!!" She called up the stairs. She stormed out of the building and slammed the door on her way out.

The boys acted like nothing had happened, as if this was a daily occurrence. Pounding on the stairs could be heard and a few of the boys looked that way to find their leader missing a shirt and one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Lipstick smudges could be seen on his face and chest. His stormy grey eyes were blazing with hatred. Any one could tell he was pissed. He spotted the man at once. The stranger was effortlessly seen through the throngs of newsboys, the tailor made suit making it that much easier to spot from across the dilapidated room. Spot ignored the man for a few minutes. He knew he needed to cool his temper down some before he talked to this guy. After a few drags on an offered cigarette from one of his boys he was calm enough to think rationally, but still mad enough to want to soak this fellow. He walked stiffly up to the man.

"Wha do ya want?" He said in a perfect Brooklyn accent.

The stranger motioned to come outside with him, and the man fumbled out the doors while Spot followed out the door of the lodging house with ease. Once the door was shut noise exploded throughout the house, much like a volcano eruption, as the boys clambered over each other to get a good look through the tiny windows that surrounded the front of the lodging house. Outside was a different story, as the odd looking pair of older gentleman and young riffraff stood awkwardly waiting for words to be exchanged. Spot gestured to the stranger impatiently.

"Well?"

"Sir. My name is Earnest Clooney. I'm the campaign manager for Christopher Gates. Perhaps you've heard of him?" Mr. Clooney asked.

"Yeah. Idn't he one a dose hoity-toity richies?"

"Ah… Um," Mr. Clooney didn't know how to respond to a question such as this "If you're implying that he is rich, then yes he is. If you read the newspaper everyday… "

Spot rolled his eyes at this comment and interrupted him. "I'm a newsie, coise I read da papes everyday. How else am I supposed ta make a livin?"

"Well yes, I guess you're right. Well as you've read you know that he is running for Mayor. We got a late start on running Mr. Gates campaign, and if we were to do anything remotely close to what the Wilkinson's campaign has done then we would be labeled as a duplicate. Wilkinson has thought of everything except what I'm about to purpose to you."

Spot narrowed his eyes looking much like a wild cat spotting his pray. He growled out,

"What exactly is it dat you're gonna purpose? And what exactly does dis have ta do wit me? I ain't doin nuttin for a hoity-toity poison like Gates."

Mr. Clooney's nerves were being pulled. He was afraid of this young violent man and was very afraid to show it.

"I'm purposing to you that you go spend the next month with Mr. Gates and his family in their home. The state of New York is commanding you. You must do this. You do have another option and that's going to the refuge, which I highly doubt you want to do that."

Mr. Clooney could practically see the wheels turning in the boys head. He knew that he was seething with anger and hatred. He hoped to God as he stood there that the boy would not act out on his anger. He knew he'd be at the receiving end of his fist.

Spot took a few deep breaths to try to control himself before he soaked this guy. How dare he say that he must do something. He hadn't taken orders from someone since before he took over Brooklyn.

"Look mistah, I ain't goin no where. If you have a problem with that, then get goin. I don't wanna see you'se back around here again."

'This was it now or never,' Mr. Clooney thought, 'I have to show him I'm not afraid of him.'

"No, you look, you are coming with me even if you don't want to. If you refuse to budge then I will be forced to call for the authorities to confine you to the House of Refuge."

Spot thought about what would happen if he was sentenced to House of Refuge. Brooklyn would be in chaos. Old enemies would be wild with the thoughts that they could over throw Brooklyn and control his borough. But if he only left for a month then chaos wouldn't last and even if someone took control he could still win it back. It wouldn't last forever. He made up his mind.

"Fine, but one month an its ovah."

"Yes, one month. I will come calling for you tomorrow. Pack all of your belongings and be ready by 7:30 tomorrow night."

Earnest Clooney took one more look at the pissed off young man and walked to his carriage. The driver opened the door and they were off in just a click of the drivers tongue.

Spot watched them drive off. Just a month. Just a month. He tried to convince himself that it was going to be just a short time. He wasn't doing a very good job though.


	4. Conlon Conversations

(AN: I know it's been a long time since I've updated, but oh well. What can you do? LOL. Ok actually I've been pretty busy, I've been spending time with my best friend. She is moving away Sunday. Yeah, sad I know. So now I'm enrolling in different high school. This new high school is a lot closer to where I live than the one I was going to before. Thanks to my two Beta readers! You know who you are! Thanks guys! So anyway on with the story!)  
  
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice By CiCi  
  
Spot watched the carriage roll away. Sighing he turned to the lodging house and went inside only to face the 30 or so anxiously waiting boys. Yells and rude statements were heard through out the building.  
  
"Wha'd money-bags want, Spot?"  
  
"Spot, who da hell was he?"  
  
"Wha'd he want?"  
  
"God, he was tight wad! Wonder what's up his ass."  
  
Each boy wanting to know who that man was and what he wanted, busted out loud with their own comments. Also a familiar voice was heard through out the commotion. A voice he knew so well. He couldn't see his face, but just by his voice he could find him.  
  
"Hey leave da guy alone! Can't ya see he's worn down?"  
  
Spot turned toward the voice. Right away he could spot his younger cousins' head in the crowd. He grinned in spite of himself. Runner always knew what he was feeling and thinking. At that simple statement the crowd quieted. The boys parted and Runner stepped through to the circle where the leader stood proudly.  
  
"Runnah." Spot simply stated.  
  
"Youah majesty." Runner answered back with a serious face, but the boys of Brooklyn weren't that kind, they busted out laughing at Runner's wit. Spot rolled his eyes.  
  
"C'mon we gotta talk." Spot gestured up-stairs.  
  
Spot strode up to his room with Runner in tow. Some of the boys had grim faces; others gave good luck signs to Runner obviously thinking that he was in trouble. Spot calmly walked into his room and leaned on the warped dresser. It was the only piece of furniture he had in his room not counting the three-legged stool that sat in the corner facing the window. Dirty clothes were put under the window, which wasn't very clean either. It was so dirty that one could barley see the cobblestone street. Spot had once tried to clean it, back when he first was appointed leader. He found a rag downstairs in a closet that was hidden away in the deserted kitchen. He grabbed it, hoping that no one would miss it. He jogged up to his bathroom to wet it and tried to clean the window, but that was easier said than done. Trying for about 10 minutes and not being able to get anything off, he deemed it un-cleanable and never bothered again.  
  
Runner slowly walked to Spot's bed and sat down. After a few minutes of tense silence he started fidgeting under Spot's raw stare. He was absolutely sure that no one could ever match his cousin's stares. It was so intense that it could over take even the strongest willed man. He glanced up from his hands to look at Spot. The elder was still staring at him. The leader sighed and turned around to look in the mirror. Runner finally couldn't stand the deafening silence anymore.  
  
"Was there a reason you called me up here Spot? Does it have to do with that man?" Runner asked.  
  
Through the mirror Spot just smiled at Runner. He was laughing on the inside though. He was laughing at the fact that Runner was still switching accents. Through the years Runner had acquired a perfect Brooklyn, with the help of Spot of course, but refused to use it with his parents, or at school, or at other places involving adults and such. The only time he would talk with it was when he was with the boys. When he and Spot were alone Runner saw no need to use it. The Brooklyn leader already knew that he actually didn't have an accent, but pretended he did. Sighing Spot answered the question that was previously asked.  
  
"Yeah, dere was a reason I called ya up heah. And yeah, it has ta do wit dat man. I know dat you would take ovah Brooklyn if anything would happen ta me. And I'm telling ya now that you're gonna have ta."  
  
"What?" He asked to double check what he had heard through disbelieving ears.  
  
"Yeah kid, ya gonna take over Brooklyn for awhile. Ya gonna get a taste of it. Foah a month, while I'm gone."  
  
"Wait. Where are you going?" He asked with shock and peaking curiosity.  
  
"Remember dat big headline we read about a month ago? It said something like Gates Runnin Foah Mayah. Da man was Gates' campaign managah. Well mistah Gates has it in his head dat I'm gonna come ta his hoity-toity mansion and live dere for a month for his campaign. I'm gonna have ta do it too. He said dat dey would call da bulls and I would have ta go ta the Refuge if I didn't. You know I'm not afraid of da Refuge, but kid I couldn't leave you to look over Brooklyn by ya self. I doubt you'll be able ta last a month, but I'm trusting ya, and I think ya can handle it if ya really set ya mind ta it."  
  
"Well what about just going to the Refuge and then we could break you out?" Runner asked desperately.  
  
"I already thought about dat. Ya know dat what Cowboy does doesn't always woik. And I'm not gonna chance it. Brooklyn would be in chaos if I wound up in da Refuge. You know it and I know it. And I know dat ya can take ovah foah me for da time I'm gone. So shut ya trap and accept it." 'I already have' Spot mentally added at the end of his short speech.  
  
Sighing Runner got up off the bed and walked toward Spot. He stopped a good few feet behind him. Spot all the while was still turned to the mirror watching him closely. Sighing and running his fingers through his hair the younger Conlon asked another question.  
  
"You'll be gone a month. You want me to be leader while your gone. And you want me to accept that. Ok I can accept it, but when are you going to tell the others? I doubt they will accept it."  
  
"Hey," Runner was cut off sharply, "Dey all accepted it when I appointed ya my second. And who evah don't will get soaked da second dey say so." Spot grinned. "And it'll be you doin all da soakin. I'm gonna tell da boys tomorrah. I don't want ya ta go blabin ya mouth to dem bout dis. Ya get me?"  
  
"Yes, I get you." Runner sighed, Spot could now tell that the youth was stressed, "I need a cigarette."  
  
The simple statement wasn't taken lightly. Spot knew the kid only smoked on rare occasions. The only time he could remember the boy smoking was when he was trying to look tough, when he was drunk, or when he was stressed. He knew that Runner didn't have to look tough when they were alone, he didn't think Runner was drunk so it had to be that he was stressed. Still he rummaged through his top drawer, turned around and tossed a cigarette and matches to Runner who automatically caught it.  
  
"Dat was my last one. Enjoy it." Spot turned and walked straight out of the room without another glance at the boy.  
  
(AN: Ok I hope you enjoyed that. I know I did. It seems like every time I write a new chapter they seem to get longer. Yipee! Its 12:00 pm here and I'm freaking tired! LOL! Oh well! Spot might meet the family in the next chapter! We'll have to see! Hehehe!)  
  
Shout-outs:  
  
Morning Dew: I hope you liked my new summary! I made it just for you! Lol!!!! I'm glad you enjoy the story! I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Thanks for letting me use Runner in this chapter! I owe you one! I love your site! Are you going to be putting up others Fan fiction on it? If so can I put mine on there? Luvs and Hugs!  
  
Shortstack and Fishface: thanks for the review! I hope you liked this chapter! I would of put it up sooner, but I didn't have time to write it! Oops on my part. I'm trying to get the chapters up as soon as I can, but I'm a procrastinator. I'm even surprised I got this far! I think it's the reviews that keep me going! I'm wanting to please everyone so I'm going to have to finish writing this! Luvs and Hugs!  
  
Megabee Athlete: Thanks for your input! I'm glad you like the idea of the story! I hope you liked this chapter! Luvs and Hugs!  
  
AA Battery: I loved your review! I cant wait for Spot to shut them up too! I'll see you next chapter! Ta Ta! Luvs and Hugs!  
  
Butterfly: You review rocks my socks!!! LOL! If you would like to make me up a new summary I would be forever thankful! I just want to say that I love your stories! When's the next chapter coming out? *fidgets in her chair* I'm very impatient about that! If I read a good story I want an update right then and there! Your story Apple Pie and Broken Shoes is great! I love the sequal so far! I wish I could write as good as you do! But hey I'm working on it! I'm not quite there, but I think I'm improving with each chapter! Luvs and Hugs!  
  
Seraph: Hey its ok that you missed the second chapter! I was a little disappointed that I got only one review, but if you missed it you missed it! At least you made it up to me and reviewed both chapters 2 and 3! LOL! So no worries! Yeah I think Spot would of gone for the good of Brooklyn , so he did! Isn't he righteous? LOL! Well hope you liked this chapter! Luvs and Hugs! 


	5. Last Glances

(AN: Another edited chapter for you. Hope you enjoy.)

Disclaimer: Runner does NOT belong to me! He along with Rascal, Aleck, Mason, Matches, Scapegoat, Digger, Runt and Two-Scoops belongs to Morning Dew! Slick belongs to Dimples. Even though I didn't ask to use him Dewey assured me that you wouldn't mind Dimples. Sorry for not asking. Newsies don't belong to me, they belong to Disney. Anything you don't recognize belongs to me.

Of Life, Love, and Laughter By CiCi

Spot opened his eyes at dawn, just like everyday. It seemed like it had always been that way, well it had always been that way since he was leader. He was always the first to get up and the last to go to sleep. As he put it once to his cousin and second in command, Runner, 'A leadah's needs come in second ta everyone else's. I make shoah everyone's okay through da day, I make shoah, everyone goes ta sleep, I make shoah they'se are awake foah dere mornin papes. Yoah obligated ta be strong foah dem, or ya wont last a day.'

The Brooklyn leader sat up in bed and stretched. He looked around his room, for anything that might be out of place. His guard was already up. It seemed like the only time he let his guard down was when he was asleep, but still he was aware of his surroundings, and knew when things weren't right. He didn't like surprise, and tried to avoid it as much as possible. That's why he had his little, "boids." As he liked to call them. He was aware of everything happening in his borough and everything that was happening else where. He had "boid's" placed among every borough. The only borough leader that knew of this though, was the leader of the Manhattan newsies, Jack Kelly a.k.a. Cowboy. They had been friends for a long time, and it seemed that Jack didn't care that a Brooklyn spy was placed among his newsies. Even though Cowboy knew there was an undercover Brooklynite among them he had no idea which newsie was Spot's. The Brooklyn leader took care in picking the "boids" trying to make them as concealed as possible. The least likely candidate to be deemed a Brooklyn "boid" would undoubtedly Spot's spy; an inconspicuous demeanor was the key.

Spot walked to his bathroom sink and splashed cold water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his golden brown locks. It was a morning routine. He claimed that it woke him up faster. He dressed quickly and headed to the bunkroom. He quietly opened the door and was greeted with the soft snores of the boys. He listened for a few minutes pondering when he would again hear those sounds. Not for a while he imagined. He shuffled over to the nearest bunk and woke up the boy in it. The woken boy grumbled and headed to the washroom. This went on for a few minutes. Each boy woken grumbling and heading to the washroom to get ready for the day. Spot only laughed. Before he left, the washroom was now a noisy racket. The Brooklyn leader headed down stairs to the linen closet to find a bag to pack his stuff in. He gathered a bag up in his toned arms and walked back to his room. Spot placed the bag down on his bed. He heard shouts coming from the stairs and walked out just in time to see the first boy head down the stairs. He was greeted with light-hearted comments. He joined them in heading out. Half way to the Distribution Center they met up with Runner who joined them on their way. Runner almost always met up with them around half way to their destination. Runner waved Spot over. Obviously he wanted to talk.

"Hey, ya haven't changed ya mind have ya?" Runner asked with his Brooklyn accent.

"Naw, I haven't." Spot replied in his usual bluntness.

"Well what's ya plan? What are ya gonna be doin today?"

"I'm gonna sell da mornin edition and pack durin da afternoon. I'm gonna tell da boys when dey get home. I want you'se ta be dere. I'm leavin about 7:30." Spot said.

Runner just sighed and walked off. He didn't know how he was going to handle this situation. Sure Spot had gotten him into tougher predicaments, but he could always count on the elder to get him out. Maybe he could go to Spot and ask if he could pick someone else to lead Brooklyn for the while. He would go to him later in the day, but he knew it would be a fruitless labor, he wouldn't get the answer he wanted, but he could still try. Besides he couldn't lead Brooklyn, he had to go home every night. Spot's leader duties was making sure they went to sleep every night and waking them up in the morning. Just that thought made Runner groan. If Spot would refuse to let someone else lead then he would be going to sleep every night at about midnight. The boys were rowdy and most stayed up late into the night. He would also have to get his butt up early to wake them, he would barley get any sleep at all. Another groan made its way to his throat.

He looked over at Spot, he was already in line for his papes. He sold about 120 every morning and 100 in the afternoon. That was a lot. There was a reason for it. Spot was never known to be charitable, but if a newsie had lost his money to gambling or didn't earn enough during the day he would give them at least enough for the night, but always expecting the full amount of payback that he loaned them. No one ever said anything about it, and never questioned it. As long as Spot was taking care of them, they never bothered. Runner couldn't sell as much as Spot and thought that that could serve as a problem. Everyone was now going to depend on him and if he couldn't be strong for them then they wouldn't be strong for him. That's just the way Brooklyn worked. They stuck together. If one was strong for them, they were strong for him no matter who it was or what it was for.

Spot sighed, it had been a long hard day so far. He had almost sold all of his papers. He had sold all except about twenty. It seemed like no one wanted to buy any today. It was already hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk and it was only 1:42. Sweat dripped down his back, proving that he was working hard, and after a few more called out headlines and a few more papers sold he headed to the Lodging House. Usually with a few headlines called out he could sell all twenty. He had the best selling spot on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. Today with those few headlines called he only sold about five.

Spot took off his hat trying to gain some control of the heat that was pilfering his bones. By the time he had made it back to the lodging house he had sold the rest of his twenty and walked up the stairs to his room. He could hear some boys in the bunkroom. Not all the boys, if they were all here there would be much more noise. Spot walked in to his bathroom. He silently turned on the water in the cracked tub. He slipped in the cool water. It felt heavenly against his heated skin. With every breath he took there was a new ripple in the water. He closed his eyes enjoying the silence for a while. Abruptly, he took a breath and dunked himself under the water. After a couple seconds under he came up for air. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around trying to find soap. When he finally completed the task he lathered it up and spread it over his toned body. He lathered it up again and washed his hair. Grease and dirt was the only thing that he could see in the water now. He got up and emptied the tub. One more rinse over his body and he was done.

Spot dressed and walked to his room to start the task at hand. It took him about 2 hours to pack all of his things. That was a surprisingly small amount of time to pack one's things, but Spot never owned much. He stood back to observe his room. It was bare, but it still hadn't changed much. The dresser was still there and the three-legged stool too. He had a trunk full of his things under the bed. He had took his time emptying it, sorting through old things of his. He found a pair of old worn shoes. They had holes in the toes. He had had them since he first joined the newsies. He found them in an old dumpster. When he first got them they were too big for him. He grew into them with time and as more time passed he grew right out of them. He found a pair of pink suspenders. He remembered those very well. They used to be red, but time had worn them down and they slowly faded into the pink they were now. He finally replaced them when one of the straps started to break. His new ones were still red, but they were starting to fade. He knew he was going to need new ones again soon.

Spot went downstairs in to the main room where everyone hung out and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. He didn't have to wait very long. Soon boys were pouring in from their selling, each one heading over to the desk to sign in and pay for the night. Some boys stayed down stairs while others went up to the bunkroom. A large crash was heard and an 'I didn't do it' came next. Spot walked up the flight of stairs to the bunkroom where he saw hundreds of colorful beads on the floor. With closer inspection he concluded that the beads were in fact marbles. With a turn of the head he found Rascal holding up an empty can and a sheepish grin on his face. Aleck was in the washroom snickering into his hand.

"I didn't mean ta, Spot but it just slipped." He said sheepishly to go with the grin on his face.

"Clean it up, foah da rest of da boys get heah. Aleck, help him."

"What? But I didn't do it!" he stressed.

"Aleck, help him." Spot answered right back.

Spot left them to do they're work. He would be back to check on them though in a little while. Knowing them, they would get into more trouble than they already were. He couldn't leave them alone more than a few minutes at a time. He walked down stairs to the linen closet, and grabbed a broom and a dust pan knowing they would probably need it. Seconds later he was surprised to find Aleck on his knees trying to retrieve a marble that seemed to have rolled under one of the bunks. Rascal was on his hands and knees picking up handfuls of marbles and placing them in the can.

"Heah, I thought ya could use dis." Spot said while handing Rascal the dust pan and broom.

The Brooklyn leader watched his step while going to a bunk to watch them do their job. In about half an hour the job was done and the bunkroom looked as if the marbles on the floor were never there. About an hour later every newsboy was done selling their papes and each one was either congregating in the bunkroom or main room. Poker games were not uncommon in the two rooms. It seemed as if Ace and Rebel had started one up. Runner was included in the group participating. Digger and Mason were the others in. After Mason winning all of the money Runner walked up to him.

"Can I talk ta ya?"

"Yeah, c'mon."

Spot lead Runner up to his now barren room. "Spot, can't you pick..." Runner started to ask.

"No." He said in a firm commanding tone.

"But..." Runner tried again.

"No." He repeated.

"No?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Look Runnah, ya may think dat you'se can't do dis, but I know ya can kid. Just set ya mind ta it and you'll do fine."

"Ok, if you think so."

"I know so."

Spot knew Runner could do it if he really wanted to. And he expected to come back to Runner doing his best leading, if he found any one else leading his borough he would give that person and Runner a good work over. Spot led his younger cousin back to the main room where Runner went straight to the twins, Mason and Matches. Other than Spot, they were his best friends. Another round of poker was going on, this time including Scapegoat, which was a surprise. Scapegoat was an outsider, not wanted in the Brooklyn boys. The other boys were roughhousing, talking, reading, smoking, doing what ever interested them. He called down the boys that were in the bunkroom and they joined in with the rest of the boys in their activities. Raising his voice above the noise of the room wasn't an easy task, but soon he had everyone's attention.

"Dis can't take long, Spot," Slick said, "I gotta meet Dimples in ten minutes." The boys catcalled and taunted him. He was used to it though so it didn't bother him.

"It wont Slick. Boys I'm leavin." He was interrupted.

"What?"

"Where ya goin."

"What do ya mean?

"You'se cant leave!"

"Hey! Don't interrupt me! I'm leavin foah about a month. Runnah's gonna be in charge. He's gonna take ovah foah me. Anyone who says uddah wise will get soaked. Undahstand?"

Different responses were heard, but all versions of yes.

"Where you goin Spot?" The five-year-old Runt asked.

"Nevah mind dat. It don't mattah."

Whispers broke out among the boys. Spot looked at the clock. It read 7:20. He had about ten minutes. The noise of the main room had grew to its normal level. He walked up to his old room to retrieve his bags. He knew someone was following him up there. In his room he turned to face his stalker. Little Two-Scoops stood there with his little face in a frown. Spot always cared for the boy even though he didn't show it.

"Spot, I'm gonna miss you!" The little one exclaimed.

"Listen heah, I ain't gonna be gone long, so don't worry."

Two-Scoops walked over and enveloped the elder in a hug. Awkwardly the elder hugged back. He glanced around making sure no one was watching. Clearing his throat he stepped back. Something wasn't right. All noise downstairs had ceased. Whispers could be heard once again. He threw Two- Scoops a look that clearly said 'get downstairs.' Two-Scoops left to face the dead silence downstairs. Spot picked up his stuff and threw the room one more glance not knowing when he'll be able to see it again. He walked downstairs to face what ever might be there. A man dressed in a business suit. He knew the man. It was the guy from yesterday. It was time.

"Okay boys, dis is it. I'll see ya in a month. Oh yeah, if any one of you causes problems wit Runnah, I'll see ta it when I get back. Cleah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Suah."

Not many responses were heard, but he knew everyone understood him. He walked out with the man into the darkening night. There were two carriages waiting. The man

pointed to the other carriage and told him that was his.

"That carriage is yours. It will take you to the Gates estate. Remember this family will not tolerate misbehavior. One wrong move and you end up in the Refuge." With that he turned and went off into the night in his carriage.

He stiffly walked to his carriage opened the door, threw his stuff in and proceeded to get inside. He could only have one last glance back at his home before they left. Buildings flew past at a leisurely speed. The driver hadn't said a word to him and he intended to keep it that way. Soon he was half way across Brooklyn and on the high-society streets. His face was sharp and ridged, showing no emotion as the carriage pulled up to the beautifully designed house. The carriage driver gruffly opened the door and pulled him out. He bit back a smart-mouthed remark and turned toward the mansion. He silently prepared himself for what was to come.

"Come in please." He heard as the butler opened the door.


	6. Long Night

(AN: Hello. Hope everyone is enjoying the updates. Some background history…Spot Conlon was actually a real person. He was District Master Work Boy of the Brooklyn Union. Just some interesting history for you.)

Of Life, Love, and Laughter By CiCi

'Come in please.' 'Come in please.' 'Come in please.' The words seem to echo in Spots mind. Those simple words filled him with dread. He kept his face blank as he walked into the main hall. He was met with complete silence. The only other person in the room it seemed was the butler.

"Follow me if you please." The butlers' crisp words cut the deathly silence that seemed to overtake him.

He followed the older man through different corridors to a closed door.

"This will be your room for the next month. Enjoy."

The butler opened the door and let the younger walk in. The door was abruptly shut. Spot turned back around, almost colliding with the door. Grumbling he picked up his stuff and walked over to the bed. He slowly undid the ties on his shoes and slipped them off. The worn and dirty shoes looked as if it had no place in the room, as if they didn't belong. Which, they didn't. He didn't. Nothing that he owned nor he himself belonged in this place. Everything was too grand, too expensive. He wanted out. He felt caged. He hadn't been here, but five minutes. What was it going to feel like for a whole month? Hopefully not like this caged feeling he had. He wasn't one to be locked up. He had always been free. His mother even told him that he was a free spirit. Nothing could change that. The item around his neck was a symbol of his freedom. You wouldn't know that though without knowing the history behind it. His mother had given it to him when he was 10. He was recovering from a very nasty beating from his father, when she gave him a hug and put something in his coat pocket. His hand succumbed to darkness as he pulled something out of its deep tresses. It was a key on a brand new piece of twill. He looked up into his mothers' vast blue eyes and asked what this was.

"Benny, this is the key to your freedom. You can come and go as you please. It's the key to the front door. Now go on Benjamin Conlon before I take it back and never let you step out of this house again."

A knock on the majestically carved wooden door pulled him out of his memories. He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. It read 8:45. He didn't realize it was that late. With a cautious eye he opened the door to find the butler again. The butler motioned for him to walk with him. He had no idea where he was headed.

"Hey, so wat do ya do?" Spot asked trying to make small conversation.

"Sir?"

"I mean wat's ya job?" Spot asked again as they reached a door leading to the unknown.

"I buttle, Sir." He replied as he opened the door.

Spot walked in through the door. He turned back around to face the butler to ask him what buttle was when the door was shut in his face once again. He turned around to face the other occupant in the room. An average heightened man was sitting on a brown leather chair. Smoke was billowing around his head, from a pipe that was dangling between his thin lips. A few lines were seen on his face, not enough to classify him as old, but enough to know that he was always under a lot of stress. He had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair parted on the side of his head signaling that he was a clean-cut man. The sleeves of his white collared shirt were rolled up to his elbows and in his hand was a glass of some type of alcohol. With closer inspection and observation of a half empty bottle of liquor on a desk, it was most certainly brandy.

"You must be the…newsie that will be staying in my home for the next month. Sit down." The man said offering a seat to the youth.

"Naw, dat's okay. Ise will stand." The younger said.

"Okay, now you listen to me. One toe out of line and I will have you in the refuge before you could say your own name. You will dress accordingly to the occasion. I don't care what you wear around here, but you will not go out I that," he said pointing to the clothes the boy was wearing, "I expect respect and I will receive no less than that. You will stay away from my daughters and my wife unless asked. I don't want to hear anything about you from them. Do I make my self clear?"

"Crystal." Spot growled out.

"Come with me. You are to meet the children and my wife."

Spot followed the older man out into the main hall where the stairs where located.

"Cecilia, Coriander, Norma. Come down here please. I want you to meet the…new addition to our family."

Spot took his hat off slowly, almost lazily, to show respect to the nobles that were descending toward him. A woman in her mid forties was first in line. Second was a little girl about seven or eight, Spot concluded.

"So this is the young man who will spend the next month with us. I'm Cecilia dear boy and this is one of my daughters, Norma." Said the older woman gesturing to the little girl that was behind her.

"I want to be referred as Miss Norma Jean." The little girl said haughtily, sticking her hand out as if she was waiting for it to be kissed.

Spot rolled his eyes, but seeing a pointed look from Mr. Gates, Spot took a hold of the little girls' hand and kissed it.

"Where is that girl?" Mr. Gates abruptly boomed out, turning to the stairs, "Coriander! Coriander! Where are you? You blasted girl, come here this instant!"

A girl about sixteen hurriedly jogged down the stairs. Her hand was on the banister and her eyes were downcast. Her eyes glanced up to her mother. Her mother gave a glare. The girl rolled her eyes. She stopped jogging and took the rest of the stairs gracefully with one hand holding up her skirts and the other firmly on the banister. Once down, she walked gracefully to Spot with her nose up in the air.

"I am Coriander Gates, but you will refer to me as Miss Gates." The girl said, as if she was better than him.

Spot, getting tired of his façade, dropped his humble demeanor and burst out with a string of words.

"Look missy, I ain't one to be pushed around! Now you'se all see heah, I ain't callin' any of you'se anything, but youah foist name!" He hissed with contempt.

Spot stalked out of the grand hall never turning around to look at the family. He supposed they were still frozen with shock. He walked down a long hall that he thought took him to his room. With his frustration he missed his door and headed straight and turned right to another hall then a direct left. With another left and another right, he was certain he was lost. He tried back tracking, but that only got him lost further he concluded. He sighed and slid down the wall to tired to go any further. The youth ducked down his head and covered his face with his cap. He was certain that he was to sleep here tonight. 'God dose people ah gonna be da end a me.' Was his last thought before darkness enclosed him.

Coriander stalked through the halls of her grand mansion. She was on a mission. She had to find that boy. Not that she wanted to though, her father was making her. After recovering from the shock of being told off by a lowly third class peasant her father demanded that she and him would go out and find him before he could do any damage to the house. Her father insisted that it would be only them two to go find him for Norma was too young to go through the elaborate halls she would either tire out too quickly or lose her way. Oh yes, she would find her way fine in the daylight, but at night it would be too hard for her. And Coriander's mother was a lady and real ladies don't go gallivanting around in the house during the night. So her father and her were left to do the dirty work. Their maids and butler had already retired for the night and her father did not want to disturb them. Her thoughts turned to her father. 'I bet he is already in bed by now. Not caring one bit that I'm alone in this house with a dirty newsboy who probably wants to...' her thoughts were suddenly cut off as she almost stumbled over an asleep body in the hallway. She hesitantly kicked his foot. Seeing as she had no response she carefully lifted his hat off his face only to be met by his angered grey eyes. With a yell of surprise she hopped back. With his eyes still on her he stretched out of the uncomfortable position he was in and got up slowly.

"Whaddya tink youse was doin? I was sleepin heah!" The boy snapped.

"Now you just wait a minute! I deprive my self of sleep to go find your lost self and your not even thankful? My God! At least you could say thank you!" She ranted at the boy.

"Look heah, I don't say thanks ta no one! Now show me ta my room!" He demanded.

"Fine!"

She stalked off to his room her body fueled by anger. He dragged his feet after her trying hard to keep up with her pace. After a few minutes though it seemed as if her temper had cooled and she walked at a leisurely pace. After going down a few more corridors she stopped at a room and opened the door for the boy.

"This is your room. Enjoy. Oh there's one thing that I want to know."

He looked at her questioningly.

"What is your name?"

One word was all she got.

"Spot."

He turned and strode into his room to settle down for the night.

"Spot." She whispered as if testing it on her tongue.

She furrowed her eyebrows as if in question about the name. She shrugged her shoulders and turned to the left to go find her own bedroom so she could fall asleep her self. It had been a long night.


	7. Confounded Ballroom Parties

(Authors Note: I didn't write this chapter. My buddy Morning Dew wrote this chapter and a part of chapter 8 for me. I was without internet for a while when these chapters were written so I'm going to leave up the Disclaimer and A/N that Morning Dew wrote.)

DISCLAIMER: Hmmm, this story belongs to CiCi. All the original characters are her own. Runner Conlon and some selected Brooklyn newsies are mine. And then the newsies from the actual movie are…Disney's! Surprise, surprise! ^_^

A.N.: Okay, this is Morning Dew reporting for duty. Sorry it has taken me so long to update this baby, but there was a lot on my shoulders these past few weeks for college and all. Plus, I had to re-read this story to make up a character list, as well as review the outline CiCi had given me regarding this story. Uhm…I feel pretty weird continuing a story that isn't mine. I've never done this before, lol. But I hope you all enjoy this work, and hopefully the original author will be back soon. I kinda feel like Runner undertaking leadership for Brooklyn in Spot's absence. Heehee. ^_^

Of Love, Life, and Laughter By CiCi Chapter 7 by Morning Dew

_Heya Runner,_

_Life's a living hell with the Gates family. I'se only been here one week and they's already made me go to TWO dinner parties. And it weren't no simple eat-and-leave hoopla. I'se talking about ballroom dancing and all that other crap. That's where I am right now, actually. Wearing some damn tuxedo the hoity-toity Mr. Gates made me wear. I feel _

_like…_

Spot Conlon pursed his lips in thought, giving his hand a moment to rest in the middle of the note that he would later mail to his cousin. In all honesty, he couldn't even find the right words to describe the internal struggle he was undergoing presently. These money-chasing aristocrats were making him into something he wasn't, and it infuriated him to no end. Did they realize how shallow they acted towards one another? Did they realize their lives were no more than pre-dictated actions in one big marionette show?

He groaned in annoyance and read over what he had already written down. He wondered upon Runner and how the boy was holding up in his leadership duties over Brooklyn. Hopefully, nothing considerably bad had happened. Yet. He brought the pen to paper to once again continue his letter when he was interrupted by a young voice he had grown to hate.

"Spot, my mother says you have to dance with me!"

The Brooklyn leader turned around to find himself facing Norma Jean, her blonde ringlets done up in a fancy bun and her lips pouting proudly. Spot was amazed by how proper she acted all the time, her shoulders always back and her nose always in the air. Tonight, she was donning a light blue gown complete with laced gloves pulled all the way to her elbows and sparkling shoes that glimmered under the lighting of the above chandelier.

He scoffed at her and shook his head. "I don't think so, goily. There aint no way I'se is gunna dance with da likes a' youse." Without waiting for her response, he turned back around to regard his note and started to write again.

With hands on her hips, Norma glared at his back and then walked around the table so that she could face him. She cleared her throat, fully expecting him to divert his attention towards her, but when the attempt failed, she merely resulted to speaking either way.

"You're in no position to order about your own life, Spot," she replied tauntingly. "Either you do as my parents say, or you end up in that filth called the House of Refuge."

"Right now, I'se rather be there than in this damn place," he mumbled under his breath. But folding the letter in half and placing it into the inside pocket of his blazer, he grabbed the girl's hand and led her onto the dance floor. "I'm only dancin' one song, ya heah me? I already look enough like a fool…"

"Okay, you have to put one hand on my waist and with the other, you hold my free hand, okay?"

He only nodded as she placed his hands in their rightful positions. He couldn't feel any more like an idiot. Here he was taking dance lessons from an eight-year old brat. If the newsies saw him like this, he'd be the laughing stock of the state! In a matter of minutes, though, the dance had ended. He noticed a number of people from Mr. Gates' campaign taking photographs of him and the girl and it made him sick to the stomach. What were they trying to publicize? That the Gates were as accepting towards the lower class as they were to the millionaires? That couldn't be any further from the truth as far as he was concerned. When he parted from Norma, he saw her wipe her hands onto a handkerchief out the corner of his eyes, no doubt ridding them of the 'germs' of a newsboy. He rolled his eyes and resumed his seat at the table where George, the Gates' carriage driver, sat alongside one of the family escorts named Andre.

"Heya," Spot greeted them. "Any a' youse gots a cigarette I can take a drag on?"

George arched his eyebrows at the inquiry but had to laugh at the blatant outcry. Like most of the servants in the home, he had actually come to accept Spot as one of the family. Though they weren't of the same class, the Brooklyn leader had given the home a much needed air of casualness; his easy-going spirit made the servants feel more comfortable around him. Contrary to this, whenever one from the Gates brood was around, the butlers and maids were always uptight, always afraid of somehow making mistake.

"Having trouble with the locals, Spot?" George asked with a light chuckle.

Spot took a seat next to the man and sighed. "Do they always act like dis? Like they's bettah than everyone else?" Subconsciously, he took a hand to run his fingers through his hair, but then remembered belatedly that his sandy locks were combed back with some hair grease Mr. Gates had given him. He'd have to wash it out as soon as he got to their house.

"Oh, if you think this is bad, you should've seen Coriander in finishing school. The girl acted as if she were a goddess. And Norma Jean isn't too far off from following in the same footsteps. It's the way they were raised, I suppose."

Spot nodded in agreement. He was about to strike up another topic of conversation when he saw Earnest Clooney, the campaign manager, waving him over towards the table where the family was dining. Moaning as if deeply pained, the Brooklyn leader rose from his seat with much reluctance and headed their way.

"Oh hello, Spot!" Cecilia Gates said with a feigned cheerfulness. She smiled brightly at the newsboy and nodded at him, as if grateful for his presence. But Spot knew it was only for show.

Mr. Gates beamed when the journalist and photographers drew near to get the inside scoop on his having taken in an underprivileged youth into his home.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out here tonight," the candidate for mayor began. "As you all know, the leader of the Brooklyn newsboys…Spot Conlon…has been staying with my family for the past week. This is, in essence, to stress my concern for the lower classes of our society and their needs as individuals. As mayor, I hope to better opportunities city-wide, making them available to all individuals."

A stream of questions filled the air as reporters speedily scribbled away into notebooks while their cameramen flashed pictures here and there of Spot all decked out in his three piece suit. Mr. Gates laughed heartily and held up his hands, gesturing to them to kindly stop.

"If you don't mind," he said. "My family and I have got to be getting to dinner now. But I look forward to speaking more about my plans for New York's future later tonight. Come on, Spot." He gently placed a hand on the newsie's shoulder and led him to the table where the others were already seated.

Spot had the displeasure of being appointed a chair in between Norma and Coriander. On the other hand, the food laid before him was enough to make him thankful for at least one thing when it came to being stuck with the Gates. An appealing slice of meatloaf drenched in gravy with some lasagna and fettuccine on the side made his stomach roar in hunger. He reached for the nearest fork when Norma slapped his hand and looked at him in disdain.

"We always pray over our food first, street rat," she spat at him, low enough for no one else to hear.

He would've countered her with a profane retort, but was at that moment interrupted by Mrs. Gates' reiteration of grace. He rolled his eyes and bowed his head in respect. As soon as "Amen" was uttered, however, he dropped his napkin onto his lap as he had seen the others do and once again reached for a utensil, only to find that he had quite an array to choose from. There were at least three different types of forks, spoons, and knives available.

Pursing his lips, he glanced towards Coriander to see which she was currently applying, but she was only using the spoon to drink away at her soup. And he wanted to eat the meat, damn it! He sat back in defeat and figured he'd simply butter his bread rolls until he could espy one of the family members using the rightful fork; it made no sense to make himself look like any more of an idiot than he already did.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Coriander asked him after a reasonable amount of time had passed. She couldn't care less if he had decided of a sudden to starve until he was given back his freedom, but she was still curious. She would've thought a street rat like himself would eagerly jump at the first sign of food. "That meal wasn't free, you know. You surely aren't going to waste it, are you?"

"Nah, we usually don't waste food like you richies do," he replied dryly.

"What are you talking about?" She cleaned her spoon with a napkin and then placed it atop the tablecloth, turning to face him, utterly offended.

He glowered back at her, not at all daunted by her high social rankings. "Ya know exactly what I'se talkin' 'bout. Y'all throw away leftover food alls da time, and never think for one minute that maybe some kid on da street could use a really good bite to eat. It's like ya don't even care! Ya'd rather see it all go to waste than give a street rat like me a warm meal for a change."

"We work hard for our food!"

"So do we! And we'se thankful for it, even when we aint got that much. And I'se can tell ya one thing. If one of me boiys in Brooklyn only had a roll of bread for 'imself, but knew a fellow newsie was hungry, he wouldn't even hesitate to share dat bread with 'im. But youse!" He laughed in mockery. "You'd rather see ya own family suffer than even think about offerin' 'em a helpin' hand. Ya whole family is screwed up!"

She gasped at his words, fully ready to rise from her feet and march towards her father in protest of this whole idea. Spot was so…intolerable! Her father had been mad to bring in a newsboy merely to win some confounded campaign! "You're completely out of line to be speaking to me like this," she told him through clenched teeth. "I'm above your class and you _will_ treat me with respect."

Spot couldn't take it anymore. He practically jumped to his feet and slammed his chair back under the table. "If ya want someone to obey youse, buy a friggin' dog! I've had about as much of youse as I can take. I'se leavin'." He stalked away from the table and when Mr. Gates called out to him and asked where he was going, Spot answered without even looking back.

"I need some fresh air. It's gettin' hard to breathe in all dis crazy business."


	8. Demands and a Memory

(AN: The first part of this chapter belongs to Morning Dew along with other assortment of characters.

Of Love, Life, and Laughter By CiCi Part of Chapter 8 by Morning Dew

The days couldn't have passed by any more slowly. As boredom started to come into play, the hours stretched out to be incredibly long and Spot found himself wishing more and more that he was back at the Brooklyn docks, overseeing his newsies and talking up the news with his cousin. The only thing that seemed to pass the time these days were the friendships he had made with the many servants throughout the Gates mansion.

Whenever Mr. Gates was off taking care of campaign business and the three ladies of the house off shopping their vast money away, the family would leave Spot to his own devices and more often than not, the Brooklyn leader willingly chose to help the maids and butlers with their daily chores.

His favorite maid was Julie with her British accent. She was rather soft-spoken but had a kind heart and was easy to talk to. Spot found her to be the easiest person to adapt to in the mansion and he passed most his hours at her side, whether it was to chat or clean up around the place. This particular day, he was mopping the tiled floor of the kitchen while she washed dishes as they conversed about favorite foods.

"Ya ever been to Tibby's? It's where all da newsies go for lunch. Da greatest restaurant in da woild! Me and me cousin come all da way from Brooklyn just to eat there!"

"Oh really?" Julie replied in her polished accent while wiping a plate dry. "I'll have to see about it sometime." She watched the Brooklyn leader slave away with the mop and her heart instantly went out to him. He suffered enough on the streets of New York, yet even when presented with the chance to enjoy the high life, he would rather humble himself to servant hood. She smiled with a sigh and regarded him. "You know, Spot. You don't have to do this. Why don't you ask George to take you on a carriage ride through Central Park?"

Spot only smirked. "You kiddin' me? Dis aint all dat bad. And 'sides, I rather talk to youse than wid any a' dem richies." His expression turned serious at the mere mention of their class. Last night, Coriander and Norma had been making derogatory comments about a shoe-shiner who had apparently missed a spot on their boots and it was enough to drive Spot mad. They worried about such petty matters! "Man, I can't wait to get outta dis place. How d'ya survive?"

She laughed, the warm melody filling the air with its vibrancy. "It grows on you after a while. Don't worry, Spot. Maybe you'll actually come to like the Gates family." He gave her a look that clearly said he doubted that and she laughed all the more. "Only time will tell…"

She would've said more, but the ring of chimes sounded through the air, signaling the arrival of someone at the front door. Spot wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and peeked around the corner of the wall to see who it was. Andre opened the door and welcomed the Gates girls into their home, taking their coats and bags from them to properly store the garments and packages in each of their rooms. Spot groaned with annoyance and went back to his work.

"Mother, can I have some of the cookies that were baked yesterday?" he heard Norma ask. She obviously had received a positive answer, for the next thing his ears picked up were the thudding beats of her boots as she furthered towards the kitchen. Without stopping to take the shoes off, she marched across the newly-cleaned tiles, leaving skid marks as she went her way, and didn't make a single expression as to her guilt for ruining the work Spot had spent a good hour on.

"Norma!" he said with the utmost irritation. "Can't ya see that I'se was moppin' heah!?"

She looked back at him from the cabinet she was currently raiding and then diverted her gaze to the semi-wet floor, where black boot prints marked her trail from the hallway to the counters. Then, shrugging, she said, "I see it quite clearly, Spot. What's your point?"

He clenched his fist around the mop handle and glared daggers at her. "That if youse weren't actin' so bratty and maybe thought 'bout someone other than yaself for once, you'da had the consideration to not make dis mess!"

"Don't speak to my sister like that!" It was Coriander who spoke, entering in from the corridor as well. She didn't particularly support Norma's rude gesture, but she wasn't about to let a street rat tell someone from her class what they ought to do. She adamantly believed that Spot had yet to learn his place in their society, and she wouldn't let him forget that. At least that was her mother constantly said behind closed doors once the media had left their premises. "You will apologize to her."

"Yea, don't hold ya breath," he retorted.

Coriander took another step forward, boldly dirtying the mopped floor with her boot prints as well. She found her guards collapse when she was met with the icy stare of his depthless grey irises but she wouldn't back down. "You _will _apologize!" Their faces were only inches apart now, her heart beating wildly inside her. The Brooklyn leader looked about ready to lash out at her, but a voice from behind ended the argument.

"Coriander, darling, whatever are you doing in the kitchen?" It was Mrs. Gates, clad in the beautiful silk dress she had worn to go shopping. The woman's eyes then fell upon the newsboy and she frowned. "Spot, so long as you're a part of our family, you needn't slave away like the working class. Leave that rubbish to the servants; they aren't getting paid to simply waltz around this place and do nothing."

Though he wasn't one of the servants, Spot still felt offended by the words. He looked back at Julie with high expectations to see her fuming with rage, but the British lady only smiled sadly and went back to scrubbing the dishes. Resigned, Spot shrugged. "Nah, it's alright, m'am. I kinda get bored when I'se aint doin' nothing, ya know? 'Sides, a lil' woik nevah hoit nobody."

"In that case, why don't you assist Coriander in cleaning her room? God knows that little rat's nest could use some tidying up."

"Mother! I haven't any use for him…"

"Nonsense," the woman replied, waving her hand as if it were a petty matter. "Whenever I leave the business solely upon you, you never get any work done. Perhaps Spot's admirable willingness to work will somehow inspire you." Not waiting for a reply, she called to Norma and then headed towards the parlor where the little girl's piano teacher waited to give the child lessons.

Coriander bit her lip to keep from screaming. Her mother always had to do things _her _way. Forget about how the other person felt, for it simply didn't matter. She was controlled by parental reins she believed would ever tie her down.

"Well then, on to my room, shall we?"

She guided him up the grand staircase, her heels slamming upon each step with anger, and then down a hall painted in shades of crimson and gold, with age-old paintings hung onto its walls and small desks and lounging chairs situated here and there. Though she paid no heed to the objects she had seen since she was a child as she passed them by, Spot couldn't help to stop every now and then and take an appreciation for the works. The paintings ranged in genre from battle scenes to portraits of presidents and war-heroes.

"Would you move along?" Coriander complained when he had stopped for the fourth time within a few minutes. "They're just paintings. What's so fascinating about them? You act as if they were made of gold."

Not in the mood to argue, he rolled his eyes and followed her farther until they finally reached a finely painted oak door leading into a room which she entered unceremoniously. The colors here, blue and green, greatly contrasted the scheme of the hallway but were easier on the eyes for their dull-like qualities.

"Don't touch anything," she snapped at him when he was about to reach forward and do just that. "And don't think I haven't an inventory worked out for every item in this room. I know exactly where everything should be, and so on. I suggest you not result to thievery during your stay here."

That was enough for him. "For ya information, goily, I didn't have any intentions tah steal any of ya stupid stuff. I'se gots stuff of me own back at da lodgin' house, I don't need tah run off wid any of dis fancy crap. And anyways, we newsies usually don't steal 'less we have tah, and even then, we only go for da gents that would get along just fine missin' a dollar or two."

He walked the length of the room, taking in all its details, and wasn't quite sure whether he approved of it or not. The place might as well have been a coffin, for it lacked a certain air of individuality…it was more so a prison cell decorated to fool one's self. He continued on with his statement.

"Some people aint got no choice in life. I'se aint sayin' I enjoy deprivin' people of deir money, but what would ya rather I do? Let me boiys starve? Some of da lil' kids is still too young tah be able tah sell enough papes in a day for a good meal, so it's me job tah look after 'em."

She crossed her arms, refusing to take pity on him. "It's still wrong," she said in a chastising drawl. He did nothing more than shrug and the simple act maddened her. _Filthy street rats and their rules. They bend the laws to satisfy their own needs. They should all be thrown into the House of Refuge. _It's what her mother had told her time and time again, and she was very near to accepting it as her own creed as well. But something in the way Spot had sugar-coated the act, something in the way he called it a means by which to survive, had opened her eyes just slightly to the drudgeries of a lower class life. True, it didn't make the act any more justified, but she supposed she had to accept him nonetheless and so she held her tongue.

"I never knew goils ya age still kept deir dolls." Spot looked back at her expressionless and pointed at her collection of dolls sitting upon the shelves in her room.

She walked towards the display and plopped down onto her bed, reflecting on the times when she was younger. Even then, her mother had always insisted that she act in the manner of a young adult. Play time was forbidden until after piano lessons, etiquette classes, and tea parties. Coriander loosened her bun and let her hair cascade past her shoulders in silky tresses that made her look like a fairy-tale damsel. With a sigh, she cast one last glance at the dolls and produced the words to an answer. "My mother maintains that they should be kept, for no particular reason, mind you. I would rather they be gone."

"Ya always do what ya parents tell ya tah do?" he asked with a snort.

"Considering they provide for me on a daily basis, I most certainly do!" was her answer. Her eyes were narrowed; the inquiry had insulted her independence. "At least I have keepsakes to remember. From the looks of it, you don't seem the type who would have anything _worth_ keeping around. I assume it's the way of the riffraff? The only thing you carry around is that confounded slingshot and that stupid key around your neck!"

His hand instantly went up to grasp the key in question, his fingers tightening around its cool silver form. Stupid key? Stupid key?! He could have driven the metal object through her skull for having said such a thing. But then again, she wouldn't know that a simple key unlocked so many painful memories inside him, and she wouldn't know that a simple key had unlocked the pathway to his current life. No, she was too naïve and thought too highly of herself.

"Ya know what, princess?" he said in mockery. "Youse can clean dis damn room by yaself. Ya don't even desoive a street rat like me tah help youse."

"You little guttersni…" His hand went over her mouth in one smack and she would have shrieked in surprise had she the ability to, but he covered her lips with his warm fingers and glared down at her.

"I don't care what ya gots tah say, Cori." She mumbled in protest to the shortened form of her name, but he went on. "You're a conceited lil' brat and ya know it. What difference does it make if ya memories is in a grand piano while mine are in a beat-up slingshot, huh? It doesn't make a difference, does it?" He let her go and pushed her away from him in a movement that barely required any effort. "Ya family's got issues, goil. Ya minds is in da wrong place, and by da time youse finally realize dat, it's gunna be too late."

"You just wait until I tell my father about this! Assaulting one of higher class than you? You'll end up in the Refuge by night for sure!" Clenching her fists, she stormed out the room and headed downstairs to complain to her parents. Spot watched her leave and shook his head. _If dis place doesn't make me go insane by the end of da month, dat goil shoah as hell will. _

(AN: Ok everyone that first part of the chapter belonged to Dewey! As you can see we combined our work to make one chapter. This part is originally mine. Its kind of short, ok incredibly short, but it contains a little background information. Hope you enjoy.)

Spot heaved a great sigh and took another look at Coriander's room. He smirked at all the childish things she had collected over the years. Her light blue, floral chaise chair in the corner by the window had her collection of stuffed animals on it. He walked over to the lounge chair and picked up an unwashed, stuffed bear. It had been beaten up and it was dirty from the years of strained playtime. He violently threw down the bear, resenting his mother for never getting him the stuffed animal in the window for Christmas he can remember so clearly…

_His fifth Christmas was coming in a few weeks. His mother had a tight grip on his __hand as she hurriedly walked home to get out of the frostbiting weather. Her son tried to __keep up with her strides as best as he could. She was halfway past a window that a small __crowd was gathered at. The crowd peaked her sons' interest and he abruptly pulled out ofher grasp. He realized that the store that everyone had come to look at was a toy store. __On pedestals were the newest and most expensive toy ever imagined. Beautiful porcelain __dolls were lined up on the wall. A dollhouse was there for the dolly that a little girl could __own. A toy train, rumbled down its track, winding through the assortment of toys. In the __corner though there was a teddy bear. An eye was missing and a chunk of its ear was __gone, but it was still in good condition and can be used again. The bear wasn't the most __spectacular thing in the store, it didn't even spark a glint in any of the other gatherer's __eyes, but to him it was the greatest thing he had ever seen. He wanted it for himself._

"_Mamma, Mamma," he pulled his mother toward the window to show her the neglected b__ear._

_He pointed to the toy and asked to have that for Christmas. _

_His mother replied like all mothers do, "We'll see." The elder dragged him along to their small apartment to wait for his father to come home from work. _

_On the morning Christmas, the little boy woke up extra early to see what Santa had brought him. Package after package, he opened expecting to find the abandoned teddy bear, but to no avail. None of the packages contained the bounty, instead an assortment of clothes was what he received. Though he understood his mother couldn't afford to buy him the beaten bear, he still resented her…_

With his memory fading from mind, he turned and made his way over to the open door and walked out without another look back. He started towards his destination, most intent on finishing his recently dirtied work in the kitchen. At the top of the staircase he head the familiar chiming of bells again. Mr. Gates was the one to walk through the door this time. Andre took Mr. Gates bowler hat and . Gates knowing fully what his mission was, called for Spot.

"Yeah, up heah." Spot called down.

Mr. Gates looked up surprised to see Spot at the top of the stairs ready to descend. Mr. Gates, in a hurry, told Spot to get on his coat and that he was coming with him to adestination Spot didn't know. While Spot descended the stairs and submerged into the labyrinth toward his bedroom, Mr. Gates took it upon himself to walk into the parlor where his eldest daughter was upon the couch pouting.

"What's the matter dear?"

"Father…"

"Yes?" Christopher Gates' attention focused solely on Coriander.

"I…I…Never mind."

"Well then… I'm going to fetch more clothes for Spot. Would you like to come?"

"Sure father." Coriander replied as she was lead by her father out of the parlor door.

At the front door Coriander collected her coat and followed her father to the awaiting carriage, fully unaware that the miscreant that caused the earlier disruption was coming with them.


End file.
